


The Very Thought of You

by reveling_in_mayhem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, First Kiss, Fluff, I just really wanted them to dance in the kitchen, Inspired by Music, M/M, dancing in the kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26432149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reveling_in_mayhem/pseuds/reveling_in_mayhem
Summary: John and Sherlock have danced before. For a case and for a wedding. But they've never danced like this. So why is John reaching out his hand for Sherlock's now?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 109





	The Very Thought of You

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completely self-indulgent fic. I listen to a lot of music. I wanted to know what would happen if the boys listened to some of the music I love and here's the result. I hope you enjoy!

Sherlock could hear the music coming from 221B as he climbed the seventeen steps up to the flat, his feet automatically finding the familiar grooves and skipping the squeaky third, ninth, and fourteenth step. John often played music when Sherlock was out. He claimed it was because it allowed him to listen to his preferred music without Sherlock critiquing his choices, and Sherlock graciously accepted the truth in that, but he knew it wasn’t the whole reason. To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure if John realized that wasn’t the whole reason, either. 

John didn’t like sitting in silence. It reminded him too much of Sherlock’s time away. Sherlock scoffed softly at his own word choice. ‘Time away.’ No. That wasn’t fair of him. It reminded John too much of the time when Sherlock, for all intents and purposes, was dead. John had sat in silence for weeks, just like he had after his return from Afghanistan all those years ago, and now silence was abhorrent to him. Silence was when his nightmares would come to haunt him. Before he fell, Sherlock would fill the flat with the music from his violin to hold them at bay.

So, John played music when Sherlock was out because he could no longer stand the sound of silence. He didn’t like to feel like he was alone in the flat and the music pouring out through the speakers gave him an illusion of company. Sherlock never mentioned it to John and John never bothered explaining why he would turn the music off when Sherlock returned home. 

His gaze swept over the flat as he stepped into the living room, but he didn’t see his flatmate. He could just hear the sound of running water under the strum of a guitar coming from the portable speaker that was set up in their kitchen. He pulled off his coat and scarf and hung them up on their peg by the door. Then he toed off his shoes and left them at the side of the door as well. He crossed the living room in his socked feet and rounded into the kitchen to the sight of John Watson standing in front of the sink, washing dirty dishes. 

Except that he wasn’t just washing dirty dishes. John was standing at the sink, swaying slightly side to side, and Sherlock could tell his eyes were closed as he scrubbed a plate clean. The song had changed from when he had first come in and now that he was closer Sherlock could hear John singing along to the unfamiliar song. 

_Used to spend my nights out in the barroom  
Liquor was the only love I’d known  
But you rescued me from reachin’ for the bottom  
And brought me back from being too far gone_

Sherlock stopped just outside the kitchen doorway, completely rooted to the spot as he took in the gentle swaying of John’s hips and the smooth cadence of his tenor blending with the singer coming from the speaker. 

_You’re as smooth as Tennessee Whiskey  
You’re as sweet as strawberry wine  
You’re as warm as a glass of brandy  
And honey I stay stoned on your love all the time_

John rinsed out a tea mug and flipped it upside down to dry on the rack by the sink, still singing, then turned off the water, patted his hands dry on the towel by the sink left for such a purpose, and turned. He blinked in surprise at Sherlock’s appearance at the doorway, but instead of turning off the music as he would normally do, he offered Sherlock a small smile as another refrain of the chorus began. 

John walked around the table and held out a hand to Sherlock. Sherlock stared at it, blinking uncomprehendingly.

“Dance with me,” John’s voice was soft, but it wasn’t a question. 

Sherlock looked down into John’s dark blue eyes and saw no hint of jest or teasing in them, but rather an almost shy hopefulness. They had danced before, of course. Several times, which might be odd if he thought about it, but their relationship was not exactly what people would call normal. Something about John’s expression at that moment, though, was different. There wasn’t a case that required dancing or a wedding that needed a first dance. 

Sherlock reached out with his right hand and took John’s offered left hand. John’s fingers closed around his hand and he stepped up to him as his right hand went to Sherlock’s back and pulled him closer still. Sherlock’s other hand instinctively went to John’s shoulder as they took their positions.

The song had entered into an instrumental interlude as John began to lead him in a slow sway to the music rather than a waltz. John’s hand was warm and dry in his own, the one on his back was steady, and applying gentle pressure as he pulled their bodies closer. 

Sherlock let his fingers curl around John’s shoulder as the shorter man led them in a tight circle in the available space of their small kitchen. Their feet barely shuffled as they moved to the smooth, bluesy rhythm of the song, the pluck of the guitar against the steady beat of the background drums. Sherlock leaned down just a touch to let his nose brush against the silvery-gold strands of John’s hair and breathed in the scent of lemon-verbena shampoo, which caused a smile to pull at his lips. When they had first moved in together, John had used the cheapest shampoo he could buy with some atrocious artificial coconut scent. The one he used now was more mid-range and the scent far more subtle. It didn’t mask the natural scent of the man he held in his arms. That blend of shampoo and tea and the dish soap he had used, then the scent of deodorant and clean sweat, and underneath that the sharp tang of gunpowder. The scents that made up the man. 

The rough voice of the singer came back, reiterating the chorus of the song, and John’s voice once again joined his. John had a surprisingly lovely singing voice and Sherlock closed his eyes as he concentrated on memorizing the sound of his sure tenor as he sang along. Whatever this moment was, Sherlock was committing it all to his mind palace. He wasn’t sure what John’s intentions were, but he knew that he would revisit this moment for the rest of his life as one of his favorite memories. 

The song ended and moved into another with a short instrumental opening and when John didn’t let him go, but rather continued to hold him close, Sherlock opened his eyes to look down at the doctor. He recognized the song as the rich voice of Etta James broke out over the speaker.

_I heard church bells ringing  
I heard a choir singing  
I saw my love walk down the aisle  
On her finger, he placed a ring_

Etta’s voice was filled with the pain that Sherlock had felt the day of John’s wedding to Mary. All those unspoken feelings that had flooded through him as he saw any chance of true happiness for him being swept away by the woman who would eventually put a literal hole to match the figurative one in his heart.

_All I could do  
All I could do was cry_

One of the tears that had been stinging behind his eyes fell and landed on John’s shirt, soaking through the fabric, and he realized that it was just the first of many tears that would break free. 

John turned to look up at him as something gave him away, perhaps a hitch in his breath or the wetness of his tear on his shirt. John’s eyes widened at the look on Sherlock’s face, the silent track of tears that he could still feel falling and Sherlock cursed his transport for disobedience over something as trivial as a song as John released him. That was the last thing Sherlock wanted. He wanted to be held in John’s arms as long as he possibly could, but now the doctor had let him go. 

Oh, but wait. He hadn’t stepped away. John’s hands came up to cup Sherlock’s face, his thumbs smearing the salty tears from his eyes and cheeks, which had the unfortunate side effect of causing more tears to fall.

“Hey, now. Are you ok? Why are you crying?” John asked, voice gentle.

Sherlock shook his head and closed his eyes against the concerned look in John’s steady gaze. John’s hands slipped away and a whoosh of cold air filled the space between them as John stepped away to turn off the music. Silence filled the kitchen. 

“Sherlock. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open to look at John standing by the sink again. He sniffed and wiped hastily at his eyes in vain. 

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me. Probably just tired.” Sherlock tried to laugh at himself, but it came out far closer to a sob than a laugh and by the look on John’s face he wasn’t buying anything Sherlock was selling anyway.

“Won’t happen again,” Sherlock promised as he swiftly turned and strode out of the kitchen. 

“Sherlock,” John’s voice called out before he had made it to his bedroom door and Sherlock once again felt his legs root to the spot as he came to a standstill. He might not be able to move, but he could refuse to turn around. 

He heard John’s steps as he walked up just behind him. 

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. For everything.”

Sherlock started to turn, then, because John had nothing to apologize for as far as Sherlock was concerned, but a hand on his back stilled him.

“I need to say this, and honestly, it would be better if you weren’t looking at me while I did.”

Sherlock turned back towards his doorway. Let his eyes focus on the corner of the window that he could see through the open doorway. John’s hand fell away from his back, but he stayed where he was. He heard John take a deep breath, then exhale slowly as he prepared to say whatever it was that he needed to say.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. For how I treated you when you returned. For hurting you. I asked you for one more miracle, for me, and you gave it to me. You gave me that miracle and instead of thanking you for it, I hit you and pushed you away. I was a broken man, Sherlock, but that isn’t an excuse. And then with Mary, after Mary died…” Sherlock could hear John’s feet as they shuffled against the floor, the rustle of his jeans as he shifted his weight, the sliding of his cotton shirt as his hand went up to scratch the back of his neck as he so often did. “Sherlock, I am so incredibly sorry for what I did to you. There is no excuse. I don’t deserve your forgiveness for what I did.”

Sherlock hated the way John’s voice hitched up as he forced the words through a tight throat. He could hear the way John was choking back tears. Sherlock had forgiven him and John had yet to truly forgive himself. John had been attending therapy of his own choice for his anger issues and Sherlock had gone, as well. 

Sherlock started to turn and when John didn’t stop him, he finished turning to look at his friend who had his face down and away from him.

“John,” he spoke softly, and when John didn’t look up, he said his name again louder. 

John looked up at him, mouth tight and eyes red where he was fighting back the emotion that was coursing through him. Sherlock took a step towards him. 

“Do you trust me, John?”

“Yes, of course, I trust you.”

“Then please trust me when I say that I have forgiven you.”

John opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it and swallowed hard. He gave a small nod.

Sherlock stepped closer and slipped his hand into John’s front pocket to pull out his mobile. John watched him curiously as Sherlock typed in the passcode and swiped it open. He tapped quickly at the screen and then the speakers started playing out another song.

_The very thought of you  
And I forget to do  
The little ordinary things  
That everyone ought to do_

John huffed out a breath, half-laugh, and half-sob, as Nat King Cole’s soulful voice filled the space around them. Sherlock looked down at him, slipped the phone into his jacket pocket where the music was still easily heard, and held out his hand. John stared at it for a moment before taking it, letting Sherlock pull him into another dance right there in the hallway.

They swayed to the rhythm of the song, their bodies flush from thighs to chests as they circled slowly. Sherlock breathed in the familiar scent of John once again, his arms tightening around him slightly as John carefully pressed his cheek to Sherlock’s shoulder. 

_The mere idea of you  
The longing here for you  
You’ll never know how slow the moments go  
‘Til I’m near to you_

“It’s always been you, Sherlock,” John's voice came out muffled from where he had turned his head into Sherlock’s neck. 

Sherlock shivered at the feel of John’s breath against his skin and the scratch of his stubble. His eyes closed as he turned his face into the top of John’s head. 

“I love you.” 

He wasn’t sure who said it first. Him or John. It didn’t matter. They pulled just far enough away to look into each other’s eyes. John’s smile was radiant as he looked up at Sherlock, a hand coming up to cup his jaw. Sherlock leaned down as John pushed up slightly onto his toes. Their mouths met somewhere in the middle, a sweet caress of lips and gentle exploration. 

It was everything Sherlock had ever wanted. More than he had hoped for.

As they kissed, the song continued playing softly from the inside of Sherlock’s pocket. 

_I see your face in every flower  
Your eyes in stars above  
It's just the thought of you  
The very thought of you  
My love_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always loved and adored. 💜


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